


Sooner or later.

by Michaelssw0rd



Series: 30 prompts. [8]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Because I am a doctor and I think i did manage to make it too graphic, But also, Deaths actually, Inspired by glorious art, M/M, Major Character Death Warning, somehow it's a good ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: "If we do this Mr. Reese. Sooner or later we would both wind up dead."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liebelit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liebelit/gifts).



> Inspired by his wonderful art. And also because I didn't need my heart anyway. Go leave him wonderful comments! Because wow. ART.  
> Also, for prompt: if.

There was too much blood.

_Too much._

John was an assassin. To be one, you had to be as adept at knowing location of vessels as a surgeon. By the way blood was spurting out of his wound, the bullet had severed his Splenic artery. Or maybe the Celiac. There was nothing anyone could do for him now; turning on his side and putting pressure would just, slow it down a minute or two. He had entered the building, with two resolves. The first was, that if that’s what it cost, he wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself. Death did not scare him.

But the slowly enlarging pool of blood, venous, oozing out of Harold, who was lying flat and face up, a meter away from him, _did_. It terrified him. Because his second resolution had been: Harold would make it out of it alive.

And oh how spectacularly he had failed.

The good guys had won. The bad guys had lost. The machine had informed them that only a few Decima agents were left and her agents were currently cleaning them up. This was one of the very last of their hide outs. All had been going well, until an injured and presumed dead agent had, in a last act of defiance, put two bullets in Harold’s chest before John could even turn, and one in Reese’s before he could draw up the gun and shoot.

“Sooner or later huh?” Harold said, his voice weak and dazed, and John wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

The fast blood loss was making John’s vision swim, but he could make out Harold, neatly dressed in three piece suit which was turning scarlet. He was staring at the ceiling, probably looking at the birds through the glass roof and wanting to become one. He looked so lost, so much younger than his age, and John’s failing heart ached anew because of how much he loved the man. Ineffectively, he pressed his fist harder against the hole in his chest, and clenched his other hand even tighter, pressing his knuckles on the cold tiles, stopping it from reaching out to trace the lines of Finch’s face with blood stained fingers.

“I am sorry.” John said hoarsely.

Harold tried to shrug, but managed a bare twitch. “It was eventual.”

“Wish you could’ve made it out alive.” The strength to keep his vocal cords moving was fast deserting him, and he wasn’t even sure if he managed more than a whisper. Harold, glancing at him, with blood staining his hair and ears and yet managing a look of disapproval told him he heard him.

“I prefer it this way.” He admitted, his voice gurgling, and ending in a feeble cough. Blood in the lungs.

And it was so typical of them. To realize what the other meant and admitting it, when it was too late. At the edge of John’s vision, Harold’s open palm lingered, tantalizing. He yearned to reach out, and entwine their fingers. They were dying together anyway; breathing their last. If John’s last memory was Harold’s hand gripping his…

But he was too much of a coward still. Because he could not bear it if his last memory was Harold flinching away from his touch.

Not having enough energy to even startle, John vaguely noticed the static in his ear, his com coming alive. Most of his attention was focused on Harold’s face losing color much too fast, his breaths coming out wheezier and wheezier, the life leaving him before John could do anything. He wanted to memorize the angles, because he was sure they would be enough for him to survive hell- or wherever else he ended up if Harold wasn’t there.

“ _John_.” He realized that it was Root in his ear, and as much as he had grown to like her, hers wasn’t the voice he wanted to hear right now. He grunted anyway.

“ _John I am sorry_.” And was it Root _crying?_. If he could, he would be surprised. “ _But the machine wanted me to tell you to stop being an idiot and hold his hand. He wants you to._ ”

The sound was lost before he could give an answer, and he laughed. Except it ended up coming as a coarse pitiful huff.

Harold turned a bit, facing him, his eyes behind the glasses only inches apart. John could not help his gaze roaming over every centimeter of the face of his savior. There was a question in his eyes, and in reply, John moved his hand and grasped Harold’s open palm, squeezing with all the strength he had left- which wasn’t a lot.

“Your machine is as meddling as ever.”

Harold smiled. A small tentative, gloriously relieved smile on his face, making it look almost boyish. There was a freedom in his blue eyes that John had never seen before, and if his heart wasn’t already stopping, the sight would’ve made it so.

“I guess, Mr. Reese.” The gurgling was louder now, there was a bit of bloody foam tinging the corner of Harold’s smile, “If it had to happen.”

 _If we had to die_ … he meant _if it had to end_. And John understood.

“No other way.” John nodded, because he won’t have it any other way too. There wasn’t a better way to go, with Harold’s eyes looking at him with love, holding hands, with their blood mingling: gushing out powerfully from John, and calmly but with deadly inevitability from Harold.

Half an hour later, Root and Shaw burst into the building, and found them curled around each other, their foreheads pressed and their blood making a rough circle around them.

Yin and Yang.

Until the end.

* * *

  


Art by [Liebelit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8589115/chapters/19695961?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_82777543).

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I legit cried when writing this. I don't write sad endings. I DON'T. But i mean... they die together and in love and it's not a bad ending per se i guess. AND YET. MY HEART. I AM SORRY.


End file.
